


Stuck inside the Outsider, now what?

by Hirvitank



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, absolute crack, bodyswitch AU, don't mind my awful sense of humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-16 09:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21269120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hirvitank/pseuds/Hirvitank
Summary: Sure, when she’d gone to bed last night she might have smoked one hookah too many, and sure, she might even admit she shouldn’t have gone through her entire stash of white-leaf tobacco—however, none of that explained how Emily had ended up stuck inside the Outsider's body, of all places!





	1. Waking up with a hangover never felt this awkward

**Author's Note:**

> HHIIIII!!!!!!!!!! It's me, writing extremely self-indulgent fanfiction to amuse myself. How long is this going to be? Who knows and who cares we're all in this crack together!

The first of many things Emily noticed upon waking, were the strange—and entirely out of place—creaks and groans of aged woodwork, interrupted by a series of industrial huffs and puffs. Sure, when she’d gone to bed last night she might have smoked one hookah too many, and sure, she might even admit she shouldn’t have gone through her entire stash of white-leaf tobacco. But such regrets did little to explain why her bed was moving, or why the familiar sounds of waves crashing against metal surrounded her. If Emily didn’t know any better, she’d swear she was back on Mea—no, Billie’s ship. A creak, followed by a particularly wild sway of her bed, and she shot upright. Wide-eyed and panting, she took in the slightly familiar interior and—fuck! She hadn’t dreamt reclaiming her throne, had she? Without hesitation, she leapt from her cot, bare feet padding along the wooden floor. She felt strange, unbalanced—weak even. Perhaps it hadn’t all been a dream, perhaps she—still under the influence of her hookah—had been lifted from her royal chambers for some unknown reason. 

She threw the door with a loud bang, the impact of its metal frame against the ship’s walls resounding throughout the vessel. Her gaze immediately found Billie, who seized her up with a single, raised brow and a look she could only describe as weary exasperation.

“I see—“

“What‘s going on, Billie?” Emily barked, surprised by the sound of her own voice but too stressed to pause and think.

“So I’ve been promoted to Billie now instead of Lurk?” The dark-skinned assassin drawled, an unusually cold glare twisting her features—only now did Emily notice the strange, reddish shard that covered one of her eyes, as well as the fragmented arm holding a greasy rag.

“Why’d you kidnap me?” She ignored the woman’s quip, freezing at the assassin’s open display of contempt; was Emily faced with yet another betrayal? (And seriously, what was up with her voice?)

Billie shook her head, rolling her eyes as she let out a tired sigh. “Really, kid? That joke was funny for maybe five minutes at the harbour,” she paused, making a show of eyeing Emily up and down. “And put something on for goodness sake, nobody wants to see that.”

“I—“ Emily started, but immediately cut herself off, allowing Billie’s words to sink in. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her ears as she felt a breeze hit the exposed skin of her chest. Swallowing thickly, she glanced down at herself, feeling her stomach lurch. Her hands shot up, immediately testing to see if she was really seeing what she was: unusually pale skin, covering an obviously malnourished frame, and... She shrieked, pinching herself, hands desperately grasping at— “Where are my boobs?” 

Her words were met with a loud guffaw, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from strangling the obviously amused assassin. “I really shouldn’t have fed you that tobacco,” she shook her head, shoulders still trembling with laughter.

Emily narrowed her eyes, scowling at the other woman, trying her best to keep her mind out of her own pants—because she could swear there was something there, and if her flat chest was any indication... “You didn’t feed me anything.” She crossed her arms, regretting the action when she missed the usual curve of her bosom and—right, there’d been a point. “What did you do to me?”

“Go back to sleep, kid,” Billie waved her off, returning her attention to whatever she had been doing. (Which was cleaning her vast collection of knives, Emily sourly noted.)

“I’m serious, Billie,” she sneered nonetheless, closing in on the woman—noticing that, oh god, there was definitely something there. “My father won’t be too pleased when he finds me gone.”

This earned her a frown, drawing the assassin’s single-eyed gaze back to her. “You have a father?”

Emily knew her parents’ affair had been a secret, though a terribly kept one at best: the entire empire knew. “Now’s not the time to be funny. When Corvo finds out he’ll—“

Another burst of laughter, only this time it was laced with something harsher. “Corvo Attano? I doubt he’d give a rat’s ass about any of this.”

“Ho—“

Billie slammed her blade into the table. “Listen to me kid,” she bristled, face twisting up in anger, “you’re lucky I changed my mind and let you live, but I won’t be playing along with your games. You’re human, deal with it.”

Emily paused, taking in a deep breath, noting how she was able to inhale less air than she was used to. She considered Billie’s words, her tone, her expressions. This wasn’t the friend she’d made all those weeks ago—the friend she’d given a sizeable gift in thanks for her loyal service. Billie had worked so hard to help her reclaim her throne; why would she think of assassinating the woman she’d, only a few weeks prior, offered shelter? Swallowing something thick, Emily looked down at her hands: pale skin and long fingers. Her chest moved with every breath she took, ribs slightly sticking out in the absence of fat. She was wiry, taller, and obviously male. Could it be she... “Who am I?”

Billie cocked her head, single eye looking down her nose in Emily’s direction. “That’s something you’ll have to figure out by yourself.” She sighed, then, softening up. “Have you thought about what I proposed yet? Do you have anywhere to go?”

Emily wanted to say home, instead she said Dunwall Tower. Meanwhile her mind was racing to connect the dots. She wasn’t asleep; her pinches had obviously hurt. She also wasn’t herself, instead she was a young man—someone who Billie had been planning on assassinating. Would she know this person? Licking her lips, she quickly spoke again. “Do you have any mirrors?”

“You threw them all out, remember? I’ll have you know I’ll be making you pay me back for those.” Billie was scowling down at her blade, continuing her efforts. She turned it, its hilt glinting, revealing a brief reflection of pale green eyes—eyes Emily had never seen before.

“Would you believe me if I told you I‘m Emily Kaldwin?” The name felt strange, spoken with a different voice—but somehow sounding familiar.

Billie scoffed. “Not a chance, pal.”

Emily frowned, trying to think of a way to convince Billie of her identity.... She’d have to tell her something only the two of them could know. “When we met you told me I wouldn’t get far with my face, being stamped on half the coins in the city,” she paused, biting her lip. “You introduced yourself as Meagan Foster, said you learned something scary down south.”

Billie’s hands had stopped moving, her one eye directed at Emily in a deadpan stare. “Of course you’d know that,” she replied, promptly returning to her work.

Emily frowned, wrapping her arms around herself—or whoever she was right now. “How would anyone be able to know such things?”

“Cut the crap already. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but if it’s Emily Kaldwin you want then you can tell her that yourself. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed you visiting her.”

She’d been visited by this man? She couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone with eyes as pale as his. 

“And if you insist on staying awake, then at least sit down and eat something,” Billie continued, shoving a plate of bread and tinned seafood in her direction. “You look like shit.”

Emily looked down at the offered food before daring another glance at her torso. She did look like shit. “Do I have clothes?” She asked, avoiding the assassin’s gaze.

Instead of replying, Billie reached behind her with an annoyed huff, unceremoniously throwing a black shirt in Emily’s direction. “We’ll get you something proper in Dunwall,” the assassin mumbled, already turned away again.

Pulling the shirt over her head, Emily noticed how it was a couple sizes too small, but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she sat herself down, cringing when the movement furthered her awareness of her unmentionables. “So, where are we?”

“Really?” Billie complained, not bothering to look up anymore. “Did you hit your head going to sleep last night?” She put down the knife she’d been cleaning, moving to work on another. “We’re in Serkonos still. We agreed on calling you Mark, since you seemed to thoroughly enjoy the irony of it. Last night I asked you where I could get rid of you, but you hadn’t considered anything yet.”

Serkonos. Had Emily met this man during her trip there? Absentmindedly chewing a piece of bread, she tried to recall everyone she’d spoken to, but found herself lost in a faceless sea of fleeting encounters. “What happened to your eye?”

“You happened.” Billie didn’t elaborate.

Emily frowned again, breaking off another piece of bread, only now realising how starved she felt. “Is that why you were going to assassinate me?”

“No, but I am currently reconsidering,” Billie deadpanned, taking in a deep breath. “You know, if you’re really that confused, we could arrange a visit with Hypatia. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe you’re not supposed to live.”

Emily shook her head, carefully considering Billie’s words. “Why wouldn’t I?” She asked, growing increasingly curious about this strange man she inhabited. One thing was certain: Billie didn’t seem to like him much, but had still chosen to spare his life.

“I don’t know, maybe you’ve been in the Void for too long. You saw what it did to those cultists. Ate away their minds.”

Just who was she? “What was I doing in the Void?” Emily pressed on, breathless, heart pounding in her ears. Her mind was trying to connect the dots, gathering every sliver of information she’d gleamed so far; this person was pale, underfed, green-eyed, and for some unfathomable reason the name ‘Mark’ had been ironic. Furthermore; he’d been taken from the Void, yet he’d spoken with her in the past, and somehow he’d been the reason behind Billie’s unsettling new appearance.

“That’s the thing we’ve all been wondering, isn’t it?” Billie spared her a glance, her single eye narrowing.

So far there was only one person Emily knew wandered the Void, who would know things he hadn’t been present for, who had spoken with her specifically, and who would be capable of magically altering Billie’s physical body. If she hadn’t been as pale as she already was, Emily was sure she would have blanched significantly as the realisation hit her. Swallowing against the sudden dryness of her throat, she forced out the words, feeling her stomach twist nervously. “Am I the Outsider?”

Billie let out a snort. “Not anymore, you’re not.”

The confirmation wasn’t direct, but the implications were there. Emily sucked in a deep breath, suddenly lightheaded. There was another glint of steel, and she just managed to catch the familiar sight in its reflection: dark hair and chiseled features. If she truly inhabited the Outsider’s body, did that mean he currently inhabited hers? Heat flushed her cheeks, the thought of him waking up inside h—no! That sounded entirely too wrong, and she was certain her (or his) face burned to very the tips of her ears at the improper thought. Now that she’d figured out the identity of her body, she felt hyper aware of every sensation. She noted how her lungs drew in significantly less air, her limbs feeling sluggish and weak. And now that she thought about it, even her vision seemed less sharp than she was used to. There was a muted pain in her stomach, as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks—not that she had any prior experience to go on. Then there was the fact that her physique felt different; taller, broader, flatter (in _ some _ places, at least).

Emily had very little experience being a man, and though she had seen her fair share of male anatomy, that by no means meant she was ready to be confirming the myth of the Outsider’s crooked co—by the Void, what had she gotten herself into? If she could just keep from drinking anything for as long as possible… She let out a shuddery breath, sourly noting she had reached the last of her bread. Her hunger hadn’t been satisfied, but she doubted she could stomach the tin of eels Billie had offered. 

“So what’s your deal with the Empress?” Billie suddenly asked, interrupting Emily’s thoughts.

She looked up in surprise, meeting the assassin’s gaze. “What do you mean?” This time she clearly recognised the sound of her current voice, and wondered how she hadn’t realised sooner.

“You know what I mean. First the thing with Daud, then Delilah,” she raised a brow, “now this.”

With the worst of her initial shock abated, Emily felt herself overcome by exhaustion—the Outsider was one tired man, and she could at least sympathise with that. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Billie,” Emily sighed, rubbing her face, painfully aware it felt nothing like her own. Judging by the roughness of it, she’d be in need of a shave real soon, something she had no experience doing. Either she’d grow a beard, or she’d butcher the face of a man who probably knew of many ways to punish her for it (and sat on her throne at this very moment). 

“If you’re going to insist on being sad, then at least take it elsewhere instead of my place of work. You’re clogging up the air with your doom and gloom.” 

Emily narrowed her eyes in Billie’s direction, but the prickly assassin didn’t acknowledge her. “Fine,” she sneered, frustrated with the entire situation. She’d been given a lot to think about anyway. Billie’s question had left her with plenty of her own, and she direly needed to figure out a way to convince the assassin of her true identity. “What would the Outsider even gain from pretending to be someone else?” 

“I won’t act as if I am one to understand your motives,” Billie muttered, moving on to the next blade. “But it also wouldn’t surprise me if you finally lost your mind.”

Scowling, Emily stood, sensing the woman before her was as thick headed as some of her advisors (Leonora, to be precise). Billie didn’t say anything as Emily moved back to her room, noticing how the door had left a dent. Perhaps the assassin’s ire hadn’t been completely undeserved. Stepping inside, she set off to see if the Outsider possessed anything of use. She doubted it, though. She did manage to spot a familiar jacket, its black fabric carrying a coppery scent that reminded her of the Void. She had better wash that... perhaps his body too. At least his torso, she wasn’t about to remove his pants willingly. She also found a white shirt, along with a pair of worn-down boots. She took it all, figuring she might as well be pragmatic about her current situation. As she bent down to pick everything up, one of her knees popped loudly. How old was this guy anyway? Perhaps he’d lived a sporty life in the Void, or maybe before his sacrifice—if his physique was anything to go on, she highly doubted either option.

Releasing a small breath, she braced herself, clothing and shoes carefully tucked beneath one of her arms. At least he had big hands, which greatly helped with carrying everything. She stood, feeling another pop that had her wincing—she’d have to make him see a physician for that. Searching for anything she could use, she was happy to find a couple of rags and some soap. The small window of her room revealed the sun had already risen, and she decided she’d best get some light before her skin turned even paler—or worse, transparent. This time she didn’t throw her door as she exited her room, and Billie seemed almost relieved.

“Don’t leave the ship, we’re departing soon,” the assassin warned without looking up.

Emily let out a grunt of acknowledgement, heading towards the deck without looking back. She hadn’t paid it much attention at first, but she’d quickly come to realise she wasn’t aboard the Dreadful Wale. She briefly wondered why Billie had a different ship, but found herself loathe to ask. Pulling at the hem of her shirt—which was much too tight—she attempted to keep her stomach covered as she moved, annoyed at the constant sliver of exposed skin. Though less loudly, her knee still popped as she ascended the stairs, which at least distracted her from the other sensations of her body. She soon reached another door, and she used her free hand to push it open, annoyed to feel her shirt creeping back up. The brightness of the sun was almost overwhelming, stinging her eyes with its intensity. Narrowing them to slits, she carefully stepped out, feeling its warmth wash over her. The familiar sounds of the harbour surrounded her, reminding her of her own time in Serkonos. 

Luckily, it didn’t take her long to find a bucket and some water, and she soon picked a nice spot along the deck. Allowing herself to drop down, she took a moment to catch her breath before getting to work. She had the Outsider’s clothing washed in a matter of minutes, the articles left to dry across the ship’s railing. The sun warmed her as she worked, expelling the strange cold that had clung to her limbs and reinvigorating some of her energy. She took off the shirt Billie had handed her, using a clean rag and some fresh water to scrub at her skin. It looked even paler in daylight, and Emily wondered if some of her exhaustion could be due to an obvious lack of sun. Despite the awkwardness of washing another man’s body, she did enjoy the smells of sea and soap, grateful that—despite it still being early—the Serkonan air was already balmy. When she finished, she leaned back against the railing, allowing the sun’s heat to evaporate the moisture off her skin. When she glanced to the side, she noticed the water inside the bucket had stilled, revealing her reflection. Pale, green eyes stared back, and Emily found herself surprised by their brightness—they were certainly a stark contrast to the black on black she remembered. Though the image cast by the water wasn’t very clear, she could easily recognise the features that greeted her. It was strange, gazing at the face of a god turned human again.

Spurred on by curiosity, Emily leaned closer, interrupted when the ship stirred, its movements disturbing the water. She hadn’t noticed Billie untie the vessel’s lines from the dock, too caught up in her own thoughts, and she started when she spotted the assassin staring at her through a window. There was a strange look in that single eye of hers, and Emily couldn’t help the pang of sadness she felt, sorely missing the friendship they’d shared. She’d really have to work on that. Looking down at her exposed skin, she decided that there’d be many more things she’d be needing to work on—at least until she found a way to return to her own body… If that was even possible. Allowing her eyes to close, she let the ship’s rhythmic bobbing lull her into a quiet calm. Soon, she’d be back home. At least then she’d be one step closer to solving this horrible mess, and after that... well, she would never have to worry about the Outsider again.


	2. Caught between a rock and a very hard place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fine.” Emily dramatically crossed her arms, turning towards the door and releasing an offended huff of air. She could do this. By the Void—she was an adult, a grown woman! She refused to be freaked out on the account of some male anatomy.

“Ow!”

“Sit still, kid!” Billie pressed down harder, causing water to drip from her cloth and down Emily’s abdomen, earning another flinch. Every touch hurt, and—if her eyes hadn’t told her otherwise—the empress almost believed herself to be on fire. The very colour of her skin seemed to support the idea, perfectly matching Billie’s outfit: a bright, fiery red.

“I’ve never been burned before,” she grumbled as Billie continued cooling her.

“Well, what’d you expect when you took a nap like that?” The assassin clicked her tongue in disappointment. “You should know better.”

Emily straightened in protest, immediately regretting the move as the cloth’s pressure increased. “I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, I—“

“Drink this.” The other woman ignored her, offering a glass of water instead.

Emily recoiled, watching the liquid dance within its container. The incredible thirst she felt was ridiculous, but she knew quenching it came at a price. The conflict of her predicament twisted her gut, and she scowled at anything but the offensive drink. “No.”

“Quit being difficult,” the assassin growled, obviously fed up with her antics.

Paying the other woman’s sternness no mind, Enily shook her head. “I don’t want it.”

Releasing an annoyed huff, Billie’s hand shook enough to send some of the water spilling down. “Well you should, you might have suffered heat stroke,” she insisted through gritted teeth.

“No, Billie,” Emily whined now, worked up and desperate.

More water hit the floor, and Emily knew the other woman was about to reach the limit of her patience. “Yes, Mark. What’s your deal? Just drink.”

“I just—!” She paused, meeting Billie’s deadpan stare, sensing the assassin wasn’t about to back off. “I don’t want to pee in this body, okay!”

The other woman crossed her arms, eyeing Emily with a look of utter disbelief. “That’s it? It’s not that big a deal, you know.”

Spluttering in disagreement, she felt her already reddened face heat even further. “It feels like a violation,” she attempted, watching Billie raise a sceptic eyebrow.

“And frying yourself wasn’t?” The assassin countered. 

“I—I mean—no! It was an accident—I just...” Emily searched for a way to explain herself, but found everything felt infinitely more complicated as long as Billie didn’t believe her true identity. “Outsider’s eyes, I didn’t mean to—I just want to feel like myself again!” She complained, hearing her own voice crack. Then, “I want to be home.” Emily had never wanted to switch bodies, and she definitely hadn’t meant to do harm. It had been nothing but a stroke of bad luck—all of it.

“Calm down, kid,” Billie comforted—or, spoke as comfortingly as she could manage. “Heat stroke will mess with your emotions.”

Letting out a shuddery sigh, the empress tried to calm the frantic beat of her heart. She’d been feeling overwhelmed by it all, her current situation leaving her frustrated beyond compare. It wasn’t just that she had lost everything, she was well aware there was more to it than that. Forcing herself to calm, she returned her gaze to the other woman, carefully studying her. “Why do you dislike the Outsider?”

Billie’s single eye narrowed, her features hardening. “You—“ she cut herself off, seeming to think better of what she was about to say, then sighed, shrugging. “He’s brought more chaos than he’s helped.”

Emily nodded, but not in understanding—Billie’s words hardly made sense to her. “Yet you chose to spare him.”

“No one deserves what was done to him.” Billie averted her eye, her gaze wandering across the room before returning to Emily. “Even though he’s a cryptic little shit with an obvious death wish.” She held out the glass of water again. “Now drink.”

Emily sighed, realising she was fighting a losing battle.

* * *

There’d been plenty more Emily had wanted to discuss with the assassin; how she longed for their old sense of comradeship, for instance. But the pain of her freshly burned skin, coupled with her lingering exhaustion, had forced her to resign to sulking by herself. Billie had left to man the ship, making sure they remained on course. Their trip would only take two weeks, but right now two weeks sounded like an eternity. Sitting on her cot, Emily winced as her skin touched the wall behind it. Her Serkonan roots had mostly protected her from sunburn during her youth, paired with Dunwall’s overcast weather and her father’s ever-watchful eye. She genuinely had no idea how bad it was, or how long the redness would remain. To make matters worse, her captain appeared equally ignorant. Then there was the issue of hydrating herself. She’d accepted the glass Billie had offered, and after that had found herself unable to stop drinking. She’d downed several more, and now felt the liquid slosh within her. 

There’d be no more avoiding it now, and she supposed she wouldn’t have been able to either way.

That fact was made abundantly clear when she woke several hours later, feeling the horrifyingly familiar need to—well, there really was no escaping it. Rising from her cot, she pulled the Outsider’s freshly cleaned shirt over her head, feeling the fabric grate against her sensitive skin. When she exited her room, she spotted Billie in the same place she’d been earlier, poring over a book. The assassin raised her gaze from its pages, her single eye widening as it met Emily’s.

Laughter exploded, ringing in Emily’s ears. “You look like a lobster stuck in a napkin,” Billie guffawed.

Emily ignored the assassin’s antics. “I need to go,” she spoke tersely.

“Where to?” The other woman asked between huffs of laughter. “I thought we were headed for Dunwall?”

“No, I mean I need to  _ go _ .”

Billie raised her eyebrow, crossing her arms as she sent Emily an unimpressed look. 

“I have to take a piss,” she ended up admitting through gritted teeth.

“Lavatory is that way,” Billie offered, pointing to one of the doors. The empress didn’t move, and after a while the other woman seemed to pick up on her hesitance. “You’re not still being difficult about it, are you?”

In some ways, Emily was grateful for her sunburn, certain it hid at least part of her blush. “Can’t  _ you _ do it for me?”

“Heck no!” Billie recoiled. 

“You said it wasn’t a big deal!” She bristled.

“That doesn’t mean I’d be okay handling your ancient cock!”

“Fine.” Emily dramatically crossed her arms, turning towards the door and releasing an offended huff of air. She could do this. By the Void—she was an adult, a grown woman! She refused to be freaked out on the account of some male anatomy. She was an Empress, and that meant she would come to face harder challenges than a penis. But as confident as she felt stepping into the small space, that’s how uncertain she became after closing the door. Her bravado had quickly dissipated, giving way to an unwelcome flood of nerves.

She braced herself, refusing to give in to her uncertainty. Callista had always praised her for being a smart pupil, and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to think of something smart now. Lucky for her, an incredibly clever idea popped into her mind. She closed her eyes with a satisfied smirk. Without looking, she lowered her pants, sitting herself down above the chamber pot. She’d just finish her business without looking at or touching anything, simple as that. She awarded herself with a mental pat on the back, soon feeling the familiar relief wash over her.

Emily: 1, Outsider… well, she didn’t actually know what he had been up to. Part of her wasn’t sure if she even wanted to.

* * *

If Emily ever harboured any doubts regarding the Outsider’s potential as a man, her morning had undoubtedly erased them all. Only vaguely aware she’d dreamt a rather inappropriate dream, now, with the fog of sleep still muddying her mind, she found herself forced to deal with the consequences. Or rather, the consequences were surprisingly  _ hard _ to ignore. The realisation was a sobering one, wiping all remnants of sleep from her consciousness. She had half a mind to attempt an experimental rub, if only to relieve the pressure she felt there—but the thought sent her into a brief panic, because, no, no way, she wasn’t going to—oh Void! 

So maybe she felt a little horny, and maybe the warmth of her blanket was a pleasurable one—none of that justified her considering fetching the Outsider’s mettle, for goodness sake. Mortified by her own mind, she concentrated on everything but the tempting heat that pulsed deliciously with every heartbeat. 

Instead, she focused on the sting of her skin, the burns still as bad as they had been, trying to distract her senses. She remembered a conversation she’d had with a friend once, when their small group had gotten tipsy off of some sneakingly stolen whiskey (not sneakingly enough, of course, with a father like hers). He’d jokingly told her about his attending a party, and the following embarrassment when a fetching lady had brushed a little too close. He’d laughingly confided how he’d remedied the sudden issue, and Emily found herself attempting his solution. Forcing herself to think of the worst, most vile imagery she could possibly imagine—Anton in a bathing suit seemed to do the trick—she felt the pressure start to subside. Releasing a sigh of relief, her tensed muscles relaxed (though the heat didn’t leave her face for a few hours more).

Later—after a day’s worth of Billie’s inquiries as to ‘what was up’, and a night spent tossing and turning due to her sunburns—she'd find her relief to be short-lived. Much to her chagrin, the issue turned out to be a regular occurence. A couple of mornings later, conjuring the image of the once Royal Physician became a daily habit. She was treading treacherous grounds, and it only hardened her resolve of getting her own body back—ironic as that might sound.

In the meantime, however, she had no choice but to try and make the best of her current situation. Billie still didn’t believe her, which meant she’d either have to get the assassin to like her, or be on her own for the remainder of the trip—the latter had at least sounded doable. And so, for a lack of anything better to do, Emily passed the time in ways she knew best. The Outsider’s body ached in many places, but she was certain most would improve with healthy habits. Moving itself was a challenge—she hadn’t even gotten used to the length of his arms and legs yet—so Emily started slow, focusing on her diet first. Breakfast, however awkward, was served to her every morning. As if sensing Emily’s want to improve, Billie offered a diverse variety of foods. The both of them didn’t discuss much of importance (most of it had to do with Emily’s skin starting to peel, and in turn Billie had uttered something about snakes), but from the few instances they had, she had at least managed to glean a few things.

Despite Billie’s harsh words and cold shoulder, she didn’t hate the Outsider. If anything, the assassin appeared rather sympathetic towards the man. Paired with the knowledge that she had spared the god, Emily was starting to suspect something had caused her to change her mind—and it wasn’t the Outsider’s doing. If anything, Billie’s comment from the first day had Emily believing the Outsider hadn’t necessarily wanted to he spared. He’d been having a hard time dealing with his newfound humanity, and it showed in Billie’s subtle doting. All of this had Emily wondering what the assassin had learned during her journey, and—though she was loathe to admit it—she might even feel a little envious. The subject of the Outsider had always been one of Emily’s more obscure interests. Despite inhabiting his body, she realised she didn’t actually know much of anything about the man turned god, turned man again. Asking Billie was hardly an option, considering the assassin’s brusqueness.

So, it was curiosity that led Emily to want to take a closer look at her current body. Most of all, she wanted to see if there might be clues about who the Outsider was, or had been, scattered along his skin. Four days into their trip, she’d stolen one of Billie’s pans. Polishing it to shine, its smooth metal reflected a face she carefully studied. The first thing she’d noticed was how the malnourishment of her frame carried to her features, revealing sunken cheeks and a bruised stare. An effect of dying, or lifestyle, she wondered. Though pale as he might be, after a few days, the sunburn had given way to a healthy glow and even a few freckles (Emily had angrily slapped herself after the word ‘cute’ had come to mind). The second were the many lines etched into said skin, bringing her to wonder how old the Outsider might be—though she suspected age would be a strange concept to the once immortal man. 

But the most noticeable of all, were pale eyes defined by dark eyelashes. She’d glanced them several times, but only now could she view them clearly. They were certainly unique, and Emily thought it almost ironic such a vibrant gaze had been hidden beneath a dull layer of black.

Admittedly, she might have considered the Outsider a handsome man—had he not been exactly that: the Outsider. Despite his gaunt appearance and marred skin, his features were angular yet delicate. There was a sense of grief in the arch of his lips and set of his eyes, one he’d cleverly hidden behind a well-practiced sneer. Without the ever-present scowl, he had an air of vulnerability about him, one that—she thoughtfully noted—left a distant ache in her heart.

It was almost as if she was able to peer at the man beneath the mask, and the possibility intrigued her. More often than not, she found the build of one’s features reflected at least a small part of their soul. Allowing her gaze to descend, it met with a scar that ran along his neck. Words the Outsider had once spoken came flooding back: a knife touching his throat, and blood running out. Long fingers traveled along raised flesh, feeling its twisted texture beneath their tips. The cut must have been deep, she thought, and she could almost feel the sting of a blade echo through her touch.

The Outsider carried scars, just like Emily did, and she knew every mark told a story. She moved to roll up her pants, determined to read more of his life’s etchings. Like the rest of his body, his legs were pale and wiry, but what made Emily click her tongue in interest was the raised flesh of his knees. It was worse on his right side; the knee that tended to pop and crack as she moved. He could have a preference, she theorised, but she also wondered what could have damaged his joints so. Emily herself had been training in combat for over half of her life, yet she carried none of the blemishes he did. It probably woulen’t have come from fighting, so she would have to figure out what form of labour or general activity warranted such strain—or she could ask once she arrived back home, whatever worked out first. Regardless of the cause, she suspected the damage might run deep. This meant she’d have to be careful not to overextend the already damaged joint, and experience told her slowly strengthening the muscles around it might remedy some of its discomfort.

She had already made a mental list of the many things she’d have to work on. For example, there was the matter of his limited lung capacity. She’d figured it stemmed from lack of training. She herself had worked hard for her stamina, while he’d been... well, dead. But whereas his general strength could be bettered, his weak eyesight could not. Ironic as it might sound, the man who had once seen everything could certainly benefit from a pair of glasses. Releasing a soft breath, Emily rubbed her temples, feeling a headache start to build. She’d have to push through it, she knew. Else she’d never get anything done. Sliding her pants’ leg back down, she forced herself to rise, making sure to put less weight on her weaker knee.

She’d been following a small routine, fit to her current body. She knew there was no point in rushing anything, so she had started simple. Minor exercises that wouldn’t leave her too sore. She was clumsy, at first, unaccustomed to the Outsider’s size and strength. His body didn’t move like hers; there was less control, and she blamed it on simple muscle memory. Of course, her own memory would come to her advantage, substituting her current body’s lack of knowledge. She was certain it would speed up the process, and that thought motivated her through all her stumbles and falls. Two weeks wouldn’t be enough to make any lasting changes, but it’d be a start. Besides that, moving around helped Emily get comfortable within this stranger. 

As more days passed, she started recognising which impulses were, or weren’t her own. It’d been a vague hunch at first, but the longer she inhabited the Outsider, the more aware she became of his body’s own desires.

Foods she had previously liked didn’t taste the same, and activities she had loathed suddenly appealed to her. Emily had always hated being passive, but now she felt a foreign longing for the simplicity of silent observation. More often, she found herself on deck, gazing out across the endless ocean. She’d take in the way the waves lapped at the sides of their small vessel, and marvel at their perpetuity. She lacked that fire she’d always possessed; the need to exhaust herself, wear down her body. The change rattled her, and she couldn’t help but feel unnecessarily lazy. The idea that she could, and should, be doing more was ever-present at the back of her mind. Yet inadvertently, she was slowly getting to know the Outsider without doing much of anything. 

She knew he would like his tea with a spoon of sugar, no milk. He’d enjoy, or crave, silence and solitude—traits completely opposite to her own. He wasn’t sensitive to cold, but she did notice he was ticklish. Most startling of all, he seemed highly emotional, and Emily sometimes found herself swallowed by the intensity of him.

Her first breakdown had happened only a mere day before they’d arrive at Dunwall. Panicking as she’d held a knife to her face, Billie had come rushing in at the sound of her curses. There’d been a moment of silence, before the assassin had let out an amused chortle at the sight. Emily hadn’t really recognised the humour of her situation—to her, this was a very serious matter. She’d tried to explain it as such, stressing how she couldn’t afford mutilation.

Billie had laughed it off with a wave of her hand, telling her that, “if you wanted a shave, you could have just asked.”

In an unexpected turn of events, Billie’s proficiency with the blade became her saving grace (in this particular situation, of course). Where the woman had been a talking headache—showering Emily with relentless quips and retorts—she now helped without so much as a single jeer. It didn’t escape the empress’ attention, and it spoke all the more of Billie’s tacit care. 

Somewhere along the way, their relationship had changed. Dinner wasn’t as strained as it could have been, and their arrival at Dunwall could actually be described as companionable. Emily had spent the evening before bathing herself (she’d left her pants on, figuring she’d inadvertently clean those too), just to make sure the guards wouldn’t refuse them due to odour. Now, clean and freshly shaven, she felt like a new person—which she was, actually. Two weeks of eating despite her nausea, and training undeterred by her body’s aches, had awarded her with newfound energy. Coupled with the excitement of returning home, Emily could hardly pace herself. Her feet got ahead of her on numerous occasions, much to Billie’s annoyance. More than once, the dark-skinned woman had been forced to call out, telling her, “slow down, kid. Little late to get impatient.”

Despite her exasperation, Billie kept her promise—after all, Emily didn’t dare show up at the Tower donned in the Outsider’s signature clothing. Necessary or not, she’d been thrilled to go shopping, excited to play dress up with the Outsider. Eating well had left her with a bit more meat on her bones, and it certainly helped her fit into Dunwall’s fashion. In the end, she’d opted for something simple, donning varying shades of charcoal, accentuated by hints of emerald (she felt rather smug at her success of making his pale eyes pop, and she openly smirked at the appreciative looks she earned on their way to the Tower).

She found herself enjoying the Outsider’s height, peering over the people of Dunwall with ease. And despite her lacking strength, she was left feeling powerful. Even when she was stood across her own guards, their eyes narrowing at her unfamiliar features, she still felt confident looking down on them. Billie made an urgent request for the Royal Protector, telling them it was Meagan Foster who wished to speak with him. Emily’s heart stuttered at the mere mention of her father—she had missed him dearly, and her stomach flipped at their impending reunion. 

Ordered to wait, she carefully composed herself. She knew her father wouldn’t greet her as was normal, if anything, she expected him to brush her off a stranger—something she was bracing herself for.

What she hadn’t been prepared for, however, was the flash of recognition crossing his features. Billie had quickly taken over, urging Corvo to allow them an audience with the Empress herself. Though he’d agreed, Emily had not missed the tight set of his jaw, or the quaking clench of his fists. Her father was angry, and she had to wonder whoever was at fault. She had wisely kept her mouth shut, mutely trailing behind the two assassins. Their steps bounced off the surrounding walls, following them throughout the hallways. Her home appeared exactly as it had been, yet it felt different. Part of it had to do with perspective; edges blurry and the top of her father’s shoulders in perfect view. She was taller than him, she realised, and the observation invoked an unfamiliar kind of melancholy. Nothing was right, and it was the understanding that none she saw belonged to her that sank her stomach.

“Somehow my daughter knew you were coming,” Corvo hissed to Billie, shaking Emily from her thoughts. “I hadn’t thought you’d be bringing  _ him _ too.” The way his voice dripped with venom left her with a nagging suspicion; that somehow, for some reason, her father had known the Outsider.

“Your daughter knew?” Billie asked, glancing in Emily’s direction. “How?”

“That’s what I would like to know,” Corvo replied in a hushed whisper, and it was the first time Emily noticed how the Outsider’s hearing was infinitely better than her own. They’d ascended several staircases, her knees sore from the strain, but Corvo didn’t acknowledge her or ask about her shortness of breath. It irked her, this distant man a complete opposite to the father she’d always known. He’d moved to open the large double doors without a word, not sparing her another glance as they entered the throne room. He was avoiding her, she realised, and had to wonder why.

“Took you long enough,” a voice drawled from several feet away, interrupting her thoughts. She’d been foolish to think she could have prepared herself, to believe she wouldn’t crumble at the sound of her own voice coming from someone else.

She gasped, feeling herself stiffen as her eyes shot up, locking with pools of warm amber— _ her _ gaze. But there was something else too, a quickening of her pulse, a heating of her skin. She swallowed, taking in the sight before her. The Outsider lounged on  _ her _ throne, wearing  _ her _ skin. He hadn’t even bothered to pull her hair up, or to wear any of her formal dress. Dark strands spilled across slumped shoulders, contrasting against the simple white of a much too large undershirt, and—had he foregone wearing a bra? She was relieved to see he hadn’t forgotten pants, even though his feet remained bare. She distantly wondered how her father had allowed this, but… None of it bothered Emily as much as it should have, her mind too caught up in the wild gallop of her pulse, the heat trickling down her stomach towards—

“You’re attracted to me!” She burst out in disbelief, acutely aware of the body she inhabited and its (very) telling response.


	3. When the pot called the kettle a body snatcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you talking about?” Her father bristled, and Emily felt him tighten his hold. Behind him, Billie took in a sharp breath, the Outsider’s implications clear as day to her.
> 
> “Fuck,” the assassin hissed, and Emily opened her eyes in time to see her releasing Corvo and taking a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Before she could take another breath, Emily felt a hand wrap around her shoulder, forcing her down. Her knee gave a loud crack as it hit the floor, sending wave upon wave of searing pain through her system. The cool steel of a blade touched her throat, and she had no idea why she suddenly panicked. Everything happened too fast, the hold of her father too strong—the knife’s edge too cold. She only half registered when Billie responded, grabbing onto Corvo and pressing her own blade against his neck. Time slowed to a halt, and Emily felt every breath push through her windpipe, scorching her lungs. White spots danced in her vision, and she was almost certain she could recognise faces in their shapes.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the Outsider spoke with her voice. Closing her eyes, she heard him approach. His soft footsteps thudded in between the beats of her frantic heart, her every breath coupled with a pained hiss. Her father had forced her to catch herself on her bad knee, and it had further damaged the joint. “I believe we had some fun together, Corvo, but I suppose it was never meant to last.”

“What are you talking about?” Her father bristled, and Emily felt him tighten his hold. Behind him, Billie took in a sharp breath, the Outsider’s implications clear as day to her.

“Fuck,” the assassin hissed, and Emily opened her eyes in time to see her releasing Corvo and taking a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What’s going on?” Her father’s hold slackened, his gaze shooting between the man in his arms and his daughter before him.

“That’s not me, dad,” Emily wheezed, regretting the action as it only increased the pressure of the blade. She felt her eyes start to roll back, her body bursting with anxiety. If only her father could just remove that fucking—a breath, and relief washed over her as the painful sting of steel receded, her heart instantly calming. She swallowed, feeling her muscles go slack, blinking several times to regain her composure. Looking up, she caught the Outsider staring down at her, hand wrapped around Corvo’s arm to keep the weapon out of reach.

“Your daughter currently inhabits my body,” the Outsider’s eyes narrowed, and it was unsettling to witness his trademark expressions flit across her own face.

“Void, I’m so sorry Emily,” Billie rushed down to steady her, angrily slapping Corvo’s arm away.

Emily waved a dismissive hand in Billie’s direction, still too focused on catching her breath. The Outsider’s body had responded abnormally to the knife’s edge, and she figured past traumas were to blame. It further confirmed the notion that his body still reacted in ways the Outsider would—which reminded her of her earlier point, and why she felt so angry in the first place. Attempting to get back to her feet, but unable to due to the blow to her knee (thanks, dad), she ignored her father’s rambled apologies as she scowled at the insufferable little— “Don’t ignore me!” She seethed. “Did you do this on purpose? So you could get a good view, you absolute debauchee!”

The Outsider cocked an eyebrow, staring down at her with surprised eyes. “I’m only a man, Emily,” was his short explanation, as if to say there were more important matters to discuss—he was probably right, but Emily just so happened to care none.

“Well—it’s not as if your body reacts this way to Billie!”

“Hey,” the other woman protested, glaring between the both of them.

The Outsider’s face visibly reddened, his gaze darting to the floor as he folded his arms across his—no  _ her _ —chest.

“Don’t cross your arms you—you pervert!” Emily finally managed to raise herself, quickly pulling the Outsider’s arms away from her breasts.

“You’re calling me the pervert?” He complained, whatever poise he’d been able to maintain steadily slipping, his voice rising in pitch. “Have you been inside your own body recently? You’re turned on more than this city’s damned announcement system!” 

“No I have not, thanks to you,” she hissed.

The Outsider gave an offended huff, shaking his head in disbelief (Emily wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him display this many emotions). “I didn’t do this,” he shot back, scowling up at her, arms pressed against his sides and hands curled to fists. “I wouldn’t want your pitiful Empire, and I certainly don’t want to be inside of you.”

At those words, Emily felt an unprompted rush of endorphins flood through her, her cheeks heating and her temper flaring. “Like Void you don’t!”

“Emily, sweetheart,” her father interrupted, placing a wary hand on her shoulder. “Let’s calm down, see if we can figure out what happened.”

Emily felt another flash of anger pass through her at her father’s words. “Calm down?” She asked, eyes wide with disbelief. “You didn’t even notice someone else was inside me for two weeks!”

Her father spluttered, glancing at the Outsider before directing his gaze to the ground (both men had the decency to look ashamed, at least). “I just thought you were going through some stuff… you know, girl things,” he admitted sullenly.

“Wha—how—why?” Offended and frustrated, Emily felt herself start to deflate. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she released a weary sigh. “I can’t believe you allowed him to sit on my throne like that.”

Billie snickered at her side, “yeah, that’s a look, kid.”

Glancing up, Emily noticed the Outsider was about to cross his arms again. Quickly swatting them down, the action earned her another annoyed scowl.

“At any rate,” she spoke before anyone could interrupt, “I’ve had just about enough of this mess.” Two weeks on a ship had left her both seasick and homesick, and Emily wanted nothing more than to lie in her own bed again. “Billie,” she turned to the assassin, “I want you to fill my father in with everything you know; what you did to turn the Outsider human, and what happened right before we switched.” Then she addressed her father. “Dad, I’m not angry,” she started, noticing how he perked up at the words, “just disappointed.” At that a troubled frown twisted his features. “And you,” she spoke as she turned to the Outsider, grabbing one of his arms, and noticing how easily her hand wrapped around it, “you’re coming with me.”

Her father was about to protest, but she cut him off with a silencing glare. Then she started moving forward, forced to limp by the damage done to her knee. The Outsider stumbled behind her, his steps significantly lighter than her own. Swiftly exiting the throne room, Emily held on to him, more to have something to keep her balanced than out of fear of him running. The walk wouldn’t be a long one, but it’d be enough to regain some composure.

“Are you hurt?” Of course he just had to ask, ruining whatever calm she’d managed. The strangeness of hearing her own voice sent yet another uncomfortable shiver down her back.

“Your knees are horrible, okay,” she muttered, not looking back to meet his gaze.

After another turn he spoke up again. “Perhaps it would be best I lead,” he offered.

“I can find my own room, thank you,” Emily bit out, retaining her pace.

“That’s not what I meant, if the guards see us they’ll think you’re dragging around the empress.”

Outsider’s crooked—he had a point. “Fine.” She stopped abruptly, causing him to crash into her, the contact sending a strange static through her limbs. She shook off the sensations, frowning down at him as he carefully backed away and stepped around her, not meeting her gaze. “Lead the way, Mark.” 

“Your Majesty,” he drawled in annoyance, before continuing their path.

Emily followed, crossing her arms, glaring daggers at the back of the Outsider’s—or rather, her—head. The words blurted out before she could stop them, really, ruining the moment of silence she’d hoped for. “Why didn’t you tell my father?”

The Outsider released a dry laugh. “And spend my days waiting for the two of you locked away? No thank you.”

He had another point, though Emily was loathe to admit it. “So, what? You’ve just been pretending to be me?”

He shrugged. “Not specifically.” They ascended a set of stairs Emily knew lead directly to her room. “Everyone just assumed.”

“Of course everyone assumed,” she bristled, “you’re in my body.” A few more steps, and she had to grit her teeth against the pain in her knee.

“Touché,” was another one of his simple replies.

When they reached her room, Emily was relieved to see everything still looked the same. Passing the Outsider, she allowed herself to drop down on her bed, releasing a sigh of relief at the soft feel of her mattress. She closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of home. “I’m so tired,” she groaned, her limbs heavy with fatigue. Her words were met with silence, and she cracked open an eye to catch the Outsider standing several feet away, hands behind his back. Gazing off into nothing, he appeared lost in thought. Emily raised herself back into a seated position, resting her elbows on her knees as she considered the person before her. Though he looked like her, the way in which he carried himself, and the distinctive expressions that would cross his face were clearly his own. “Let’s think of some ground rules,” she offered, catching his interest. He stepped a little closer, propping himself against a cabinet, fingers running along its wooden surface. “For starters, I want to dress my body, and do my own hair.” She narrowed her eyes at the obviously tangled mess before her. “When my body needs bathing, then I get to do it as you keep your eyes closed, and vice versa.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you peeking at my—“ she scowled, crossing her arms. “You’re also not allowed to go to the lavatory without me.”

“You’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be,” he frowned.

“I’m trying to preserve at least some of my modesty.” Emily couldn’t believe him, heat rising to her cheeks at his obvious lack of morals.

The Outsider shrugged. “It’s just a body.”

Did he really just say that? She recoiled at the words, personally offended by them. “You wouldn’t say that if I defiled yours.”

Sending her a nonplussed look, the Outsider’s expression implied that, no, he wouldn’t much care.

Emily decided to try a different route. “4000 years right, since you were last human?” If he had been surprised at her remembering, he didn’t show it. She continued, ignoring his silent stare. “I suppose it’s time you relearn some basics, now that you’re amongst the living again.” He wanted to cross his arms, she noticed, but a pointed glare had him thinking better of it. “The first being that your body is not just that: a vessel. You’re more than just this.” She tapped a finger against her temple, pointing to her mind. “Your body has direct influence over what happens up here, and take proper care of it, and you’ll become stronger in spirit too.”

“What does any of that have to do with—“

“Respect,” she cut him off, earning an offended frown. “You need to respect your body. And since that one doesn’t belong to you, you should respect its true owner.” She paused, another thought crossing her mind. “And that means no touching in inappropriate places.” The Outsider quirked a brow at this, but after a while still nodded in agreement. “Good,” Emily released a breath, feeling some of the tension start to settle. “We’ll remain in each other’s presence at all times. I don’t want to lose you out of my sight.”

“Your Majesty,” he drawled, “if you enjoyed my company so, you could have just built a shrine; no need to trap me.”

She snorted. “I doubt you would have paid my callings much attention, Your godliness.”

His eyes flashed at her words, and she had to avert her gaze to keep her pulse from racing—surely he hadn’t just... had he? She shivered, unsettled by the thought. Clearing her throat, she stood, passing him without looking. “Come,” was all she said. Much to her relief, the Outsider followed without complaint.

A few steps later, however. “Did you tan?”

Emily felt heat rise to her cheeks as she quickly rounded the corner, her shoulders stiffening. “Not intentionally.” She immediately noticed the mirror she’d placed in the room not too long ago, and almost regretted the decision as she was stood face to face with the image of the Outsider.

“Ah,” was all her current body’s owner said as he clicked his tongue in thought, following her inside. The mirror revealed their difference in height and posture, and Emily quickly averted her eyes, feeling something stir at the sight—something she wasn’t yet ready to unpack.

Turning to face him, she looked down at her own, smaller frame. “Close your eyes.”

“What for?”

“You’re dirty, and you need to wear something other than—“ her gaze narrowed, “did you steal my father’s clothes?”

The Outsider shrugged. “How many shirts does a man truly need?”

She didn’t bother with a reply, instead sending him a pointed look before gathering the necessary supplies. Her fingers tightened around a soft cloth, attempting to hide their trembling. Slowly, the realisation of who it was inside of her was starting to sink in again. Now that her initial anger had subsided, she was faced with the uncomfortable knowledge that this wasn’t just any regular man—this was a god who, for centuries, had been heavily shunned from society. The Abbey would have her head for this. Glancing back towards her own body, she noticed he’d heeded her wish, closing his eyes as he waited for whatever she was about to do. It hadn’t truly dawned on her before, but only now did she consider the strangeness of his behaviour. Not in a million years had she thought him to cooperate. Placing the supplies on the counter behind her, she swallowed her nerves as she reached for the collar of his shirt. There was a subtle flinch as her fingers brushed his skin, and she had to force away the intrigue at how pale his hands appeared against her own tan complexion. Long fingers fumbled with the buttons, and her eyes narrowed as soon as she finished undoing the first.

“Did you realise you skipped a button?” She watched as a small line formed between his eyebrows.

“I gave up after a while,” he admitted, and truly, Emily hadn’t anticipated his simple honesty. 

She continued, hands slowly working down. “I always start at the bottom, it tends to be easier that way.” Finishing, she slipped the material off her body’s shoulders, revealing a simple tanktop. She hadn’t expected him to be wearing anything underneath, but was relieved to find he had. Carefully removing the final barrier, she tried not to think too much about how the Outsider’s body might respond to her own. So far she was in control, but the mere thought of being attracted to herself was mortifying enough. Retrieving the cloth and a small bar of soap, she quickly wet the fabric beneath the faucet. Then, she rubbed some of the soap into it, enjoying its familiar smell. She’d do a more thorough clean later; too tired, and frankly, too overwhelmed at this point. Lifting one of her body’s arms, she started scrubbing, cleaning the exposed skin. She noticed the Outsider furrowing his brow at the sensation, his teeth biting the inside of his cheek in thought. She continued her work, smoothing the cloth along his skin, soon moving to the other arm. All the while, the Outsider continued to frown, lost in his own musings. It deepened when she moved to clean his face, rubbing along his cheeks with care. 

“I haven’t smelled anything in 4000 years,” he mused, surprising her. 

She briefly halted, staring down at her own features, trying to match the words with the man of the Void. “That must have been strange,” she offered, at a loss for what else to say.

He shrugged, the tension between his brows lessening. “I would have missed it, had I known such pleasant scents existed.” There was no feeling behind the words, only a hollowness that felt entirely misplaced without the Void’s distorting echo.

Emily considered them, carefully storing the information away for later. She wasn’t used to the Outsider speaking this frankly, and she had to wonder what had him doing so. Could it be the effects of her body? Or, perhaps, was it the return to humanity that prompted him to want to reach out? She recalled Billie’s words again, and wondered if this was his way of testing the waters. After all, he was all alone now—or had been for a long time, anyway.

“Then again, your body does carry quite the odour after a few days—I wouldn’t miss that,” he scrunched up his nose and, ugh, of course he had to ruin the small, singular ounce of sympathy she had felt for him.

“Speak for yourself,” she shot back, “you smell like my grandfather—and he’s been dead for decades.” Flicking his nose, she caused his eyes to open, hands raising to rub the sore spot.

“That hurt,” he spoke from behind his fingers, carefully massaging the afflicted skin. 

Emily merely shrugged, replacing the cloth with a towel before drying off the remnants of soap. “Bet you didn’t miss that either. Now keep your eyes closed.” There was no reply as she finished rubbing his skin, draping the towel across the counter afterwards. She retrieved a simple brassiere then, consciously choosing one of her most comfortable. She carefully slid it up his arms, circling to his back to tie the strings. She passed by the mirror, and had to force down a laugh at the sight of the Outsider dressing up her body—truly, of all the things she’d ever expected to witness. She bit her lip as she focused on the ties instead, the sight of long, pale fingers working the delicate fabric a rather distracting one. Not for the first time, she found herself thinking the Outsider’s hands to be quite elegant. Free of any callouses, they were soft yet masculine. He had the hands of an artist; with fingers that could easily flick brushes across canvases, or play an instrument—of course, there were other uses too, but she reprimanded herself for thinking such inappropriate things. She was grateful the Outsider himself had his eyes closed, lest he see the sudden blush staining her cheeks.

Next was a simple, collared blouse she always wore beneath her official attire. She would do the Outsider the pleasure of not dressing him too extensively—though she  _ was _ tempted. She figured that, if he truly had nothing to do with their situation, he was equally worn down with being someone else.

“There,” she said as she finished up buttoning the blouse, carefully tucking it into his pants (which were probably her father’s too, but she wouldn’t take those away just yet). 

The Outsider opened his eyes, bright amber flicking towards her. He didn’t say anything, his gaze studying her instead, watching as she turned to pick up a hair brush next, moving to his back again. Pulling her fingers through the charcoal waves, she made a mental note to wash them tomorrow. For now, she carefully brushed through, careful not to pull too hard. With practiced care, she managed to twist the dark strands into her usual style—noting that her larger hands made it infinitely easier. Placing the needed bobby pins, she finished up in no time.

“All done,” she smiled proudly, feeling a little better at the familiar sight before her. A yawn, and she was suddenly reminded of the overwhelming day she’d had. Though it was still early in the afternoon, she figured a quick nap wouldn’t hurt—then, when she was well-rested, they could figure out what to do. Glancing towards the Outsider as he stared at his reflection, she felt a little conflicted leaving him to his own devices. But then again, she figured, he’d been alone in the Void for centuries. If anyone could keep themselves entertained, it’d have to be him. “If you don’t mind,” she spoke up, his gaze locking with hers, “I’m going to get some rest. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay in the room with me.”

He cocked his head in interest, eyes studying her closely. There was a moment where Emily was sure he’d refuse her; simply because she felt she had little power over a former god. But then, he appeared to make up his mind, offering her a wry smile. “Of course,” he agreed, much to Emily’s relief.

Later, she would find her relief to have been entirely misplaced: she never should have so easily trusted a god known for his love of... entertainment.


End file.
